


HetaPlague Inc

by hopefor_days



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Minor England/France (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:30:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopefor_days/pseuds/hopefor_days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canada is ignored yet again at the world meetings. It becomes too much for the quiet country and he snaps. What does this mean for the rest of the countries? </p><p>((this is kind of a crossover between Hetalia and the game Plague Inc.))<br/>((Originally posted on my Wattpad under genderfluid_nerd))</p>
            </blockquote>





	HetaPlague Inc

Canada sat quietly in his room. He had been ignored. Again. The other countries had completely skipped over Matthew when it was his turn to speak. And on top of that, Russia sat on him again. Matthew was tired of it. He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be remembered for something, anything. As Matthew sat there fuming, something inside him snapped. An evil grin spread across his face, a maniacal glint in his eyes. If he killed them all, surely they would remember him then. But he would have to be careful. If he killed them all quickly, they wouldn't know it was him doing it. If he didn't move quickly enough, they might be able to stop him. Then it occurred to him, a disease. If he infected the world with a man-made disease, they would all die slowly and be helpless to stop it. He left his house and went to a lab in Quebec that was used for medical research. He waltzed in, hiding a kitchen knife he had stashed in his sleeve. The lead researcher turned at his entrance.  
"Mr. Williams, what are you doing here?" He asked.  
Matthew didn't respond as he pulled the knife out and ran it through the researcher. The researcher gasped, gripping the wound, blood flowing through his fingers. An evil grin spread across Matthew's face as the researcher fell to the ground, dead. The other researchers screamed and panicked, seeing their leader bleeding on the ground. Matthew spaced out as he slaughtered all of the employees. Bodies littered the floor, blood spattered all over the walls and equipment. Matthew stood in the middle of this bloodbath, observing the carnage. He smiled creepily, almost imitating Russia. He walked over the equipment and looked around. Maybe killing all of the researchers might not have been the smartest idea; Matthew had no idea what he was doing. First, he should probably figure out what he wanted his disease, his plague, to do. Matthew wanted something that could infect the world without being noticed, but eventually evolve into something deadly. His hands flew across the equipment, somehow knowing exactly what to do. After long, grueling hours of work, Matthew had his plague. He named it CanMa7167 as a kind of homage to himself. He was Matthew Williams, AKA Canada, who became a country July 1, 1867. And soon, everyone would notice him. But how to infect the world. There was another world meeting coming up in a few weeks. If Matthew infected himself, he could infect the other countries. He would just have to bide his time.  
The world conference came fairly quickly. Before Matthew left for the UN building in New York, he took the syringe full of his homemade plague and injected himself. Almost immediately, he developed a cough. Good, that would make the virus airborne. Matthew smiled to himself. He would have to remember to act normal or else the other countries would know something's up. He left his house and got on his private jet to New York City.  
He walked into the UN building. Most of the countries were already there. England was writing something on a white board. Germany was trying to read some papers while Italy bugged him. Japan was sitting next to them, doodling some anime-style drawing. France was checking himself out in a compact mirror. Spain was trying to get Romano to eat a tomato while Romano was trying hard ignore him while muttering curse words in Italian. No one had noticed Canada walk in. The door behind Canada burst open and America came in, late as always.  
"Mattie!" Alfred shouted, throwing his arms around his younger brother.  
Matthew coughed nonchalantly as he hugged his brother. "Hi Alfred."  
America pulled away, grinning. "Should probably get this meeting started, huh?"  
"How rich of you to say that," England complained, "Seeing as how you're late."  
"Sorry Artie," America smiled sheepishly.  
"Alright, everyone take your seats," Germany called for order.  
All the countries sat down in their respective seats, America suppressing a weak cough.  
Canada smiled at that, hoping it wasn't just coincidence. Honestly, infecting America first was a smart choice. He's so all over the place, he's one of the most likely to pass on the plague.  
Throughout the meeting, Canada was again ignored, but out didn't seem to bother him this time. The plague was spreading like wildfire. America had hugged England and went into a coughing fit. England yelled at America not to get him sick. Oh, how ironic. Canada chucked to himself. England walked away from America, coughing as he passed Russia. Soon enough, Russia was coughing as well. Canada hadn't expected the plague to be this infectious. All was going according to plan.

{After Canada has left the meeting early}

"Bloody hell," England coughed into his sleeve. Ever since America had hugged him, he had been coughing. Now he was going to be sick because of that git. But it took a lot for a country to get sick, so what was this?  
America was coughing as well, so was Russia. Even Frog-Face was suppressing a small cough. How could some of the strongest countries in the world get sick so easily? And the cough was spreading.  
Spain, being close to France, was starting to get sick. Since he wouldn't leave Romano alone, poor Lovino was also coughing. And since he and Italy were the same country, North Italy was coughing as well. Germany was developing a cough from Italy clinging to his side. Since Japan was close with the other former Axis powers, Japan was sick too.  
"How in the bloody hell-?" England started, looking at the coughing countries around him.  
The entire world had to have been infected by now.

 

England went back to his hotel room in New York. His cough was slowly getting worse and worse. He felt as though he could be running a temperature. Deciding it had to be very bad if he, a country, was getting this sick, England decided to go to the nearest hospital. Once there, he got priority and was brought to a room immediately. It all went downhill from there.  
The doctors ran some blood tests on him, checking his vitals and whatnot. Everyone who came into his room had a grim look on their face. Finally, England couldn't take out anymore.  
"Doctor, what's wrong with me?" England asked in between racking coughs.  
The doctor looked at England sadly. "I'm afraid, Mr. Kirkland, your diagnosis is bleak. You have pneumonia, pulmonary oedema, pulmonary fibrosis, and a systemic infection."  
"What does that mean?" England asked, actually afraid.  
"Pneumonia can be fatal if left untreated, but luckily we can treat that easily," the doctor explained. "Pulmonary fibrosis its only fatal if you're subjected to intense exercise. Pulmonary oedema and systemic infection both have high mortality rates. The odds of surviving both at once are slim."  
"So, I'm going to die?" England asked, actually fearing for his life.  
"I'm sorry," the doctor replied before leaving.  
England sat there, wondering how the bloody hell he, The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, could have gotten this sick. He looked up when he heard a familiar voice walk past.  
America was being led by by a nurse. He looked pale and he was coughing into his fist.  
"Ame-Alfred!" England called out weakly.  
The nurse helped America over to England's room. "What's up, Iggy?"  
"Why are you here?" England asked, knowing the answer, but hoping he was wrong.  
"I'm sick, everyone is," America replied before coughing again.  
"Everyone?" England asked in disbelief.  
"Just about everyone who was at the meeting this morning," America told him. After another coughing fit, the nurse led America away. Presumably to his own room.  
England pondered what America had told him. If that was all true, their chances of survival were dwindling quickly.  
"Stiff upper lip," England told himself. "I'm the United-bloody-Kingdom, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let a cough do me in."  
Just as England said this, he went into a coughing fit. When he finished, he felt something wet in his palm. Looking down, he saw it was blood.  
Canada hadn't completely thought things through. He didn't realize that if he infected himself to infect others, he would also suffer the symptoms. He walked through his house, Kumajiji wasn't there. Canada thought for a minute about where Kumashima was before he remembered he was dead. The bear had caught the plague from Canada, but wasn't strong enough to fight it. He shrugged as he coughed into a handkerchief splattered with blood.  
He staggered into his kitchen and spit into the sink. Saliva tinged with red was washed down the sink. He was dying. Just like those other pathetic countries. Canada clenched his fists thinking about those assholes who wouldn't notice him. Well they were going to notice him now.  
Canada tried to take a step forward, but collapsed to his knees. He was getting weaker. His own plague was killing him. He staggered to his feet and fumbled for his phone. Canada dialed 911 as he went into a coughing fit.  
"911, what is your emergency?" The operator asked.  
"I...need help," Canada coughed. "I'm...dying."  
"What is your address sir?"  
Canada rattled off his address in between racking coughs.  
"Emergency vehicles will be at your location momentarily," the operator told him.  
Canada nodded even though she couldn't see him and coughed again. He wasn't sure he was going to last long enough for help to arrive.  
England was set to be transported back to his own country. He knew his only chance at survival was to go home. Countries were stronger at their birthplace. And right now, England needed any help he could get. He was getting worse and worse. France was being transported before him, back to his homeland of Paris. England insisted on waiting to hear of France's transport before leaving for his own. His excuse was that he wanted to see his chances of surviving crossing the Pacific Ocean in his condition.  
England turned on the tv in his room and switched to the news channel. "The economy in France has completely fallen. Just yesterday it began to drop, but just a few minutes ago it completely tanked, leaving the French wondering just what is going on." The newscaster began.  
England's eyes widened. Just then a nurse came in to check on him.  
"Excuse me," he asked, "Is there any word on Mr. Bonnefoy's flight?"  
The nurse looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid Mr. Bonnefoy didn't make it. I'll send in the doctor so he can speak with you."  
The nurse left and England flopped back on his bed. France was dead. Real fear made its way through him. If this disease, whatever it was, could kill a country, then he and the others didn't really have much hope.  
"Dude!" A loud and obnoxious voice yelled out.  
America appeared in England's doorway, IV pole trailing behind him.  
"You twat, you're in no condition to go running around a hospital! You need to go back to your room!" England scolded him.  
America came into his room anyway, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.  
"Did you hear about France?" America asked, his puppy-dog eyes making him seem like a little kid again in England's eyes.  
"I'm afraid I have," England looked back up at the tv that was now reporting the boost in Twinkie sales since their comeback.  
America grabbed the remote off of the nightstand and turned the tv off. "He's not the only one."  
"What?" England replied in disbelief.  
"France, Germany, Russia, China, Italy, Japan, everyone's gone," a tear slid down America's cheek despite his best efforts to stop it. "We're the only ones left."  
"Who could have done this?"England murmured more to himself.  
"What do you mean?" America asked, bewildered. This was a disease. Why would Iggy think somebody might have done this?  
"Think about it," England told America. "This disease is strong enough to kill countries. Some of the strongest countries in the world and then some. Someone genetically engineered this to kill us."  
"Why would someone want to do that?" America's eyes widened.  
"Someone wants to make a point," England thought aloud. "What that point is, I can only speculate. Perhaps they're trying to say they're just as good as us countries. Or maybe that we're not as strong as we think we are."  
"Or both," America offered.  
England turned to look at America. "I see my Sherlock Holmes act is rubbing off on you."  
"How are we going to narrow down who did it?" America began.  
England thought, "We know it started from the meeting, so choose from who was there. Japan? He has the technology."  
"No," America countered. "He got sick from Germany and Italy. What about them?"  
"Italy doesn't have the mindset to do this, nor do I think he ever will. No matter how badly he snaps. And I don't see Germany starting World War III, he cares too much for Italy," England pointed out. "Perhaps Russia?"  
America shook his head, "Russia may be big and scary, but I think he's just misunderstood. I don't see him doing it. France?"  
The two countries looked at each other and said in unison, "No!"  
"I got nothing," America shrugged.  
England's eye twitched from the poor use of grammar, but decided to ignore it. "I know it wasn't me, and I trust it wasn't you. I can't think of anyone else, yet I get the feeling there was someone else at the meeting."  
America nodded as he looked through the doorway, people watching. He watched as a nurse led a man with indigo eyes and a curl in front of his face. America recognized him right away as his brother, Canada. Then the pieces started to fall into place.  
Canada was at the meeting. He had motive. He probably had means as well. But he was so quiet and innocent.  
"Iggy, what were you saying about Italy earlier?" America asked.  
"He probably wouldn't do it, no matter how badly he snapped?" England answered, slightly confused by America's question.  
"Snapped," America murmured. He felt a wave of betrayal wash over him. He knew who had done it. "Mattie."  
"Mattie!" America shouted louder.  
Canada turned and saw his brother looking right at him. His eyes widened. He could tell by the look on America's face that he had figured it out.  
"A-Alfred," Canada stammered, led over by the nurse. "Could we speak alone please?" He asked the nurse.  
The nurse nodded and left Canada in the doorway.  
"America, I'm so sorry," Canada apologized quickly, in true Canadian fashion. "I didn't mean for all this to happen-"  
"You mean that you didn't mean to kill everybody?" America growled, gesturing angrily.  
"What?" Canada gasped. "It worked?"  
"What do you mean 'it worked'?" England asked, sitting up weakly. "So you did try to kill all of us, admit it!"  
Canada looked at his feet, "Yes, I did."  
"You killed them!" England shouted. Suddenly, the British country clutched at his chest. He fell back on the pillows before the heart monitor let out one, long, continuing beep. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was dead.  
"Iggy," America choked out, tears falling freely down his face.  
"I'm so sorry," Canada whispered before America whipped his head around to see Mattie collapsing to the ground.  
America tried to get up to help him, but collapsed to the floor himself. He could feel his heart give a couple of uneven beats before stopping altogether.  
The doctors rushed into the room to see the three men all laying dead.

 

Alice Kirkland stood in the middle of the field. She had just traveled to the new world and was enjoying its unspoiled splendor.  
She was the new representation of England. She had no knowledge of her past self, Arthur, nor the details of how she came to be.  
After all the countries were dead, the world fell into anarchy. Eventually, new countries were created in place of the old ones. History was essentially repeating itself.  
As she looked out over the great plain, Alice noticed movement. She drew closer and saw it was a child: a little girl. Alice bent down to the girl's level.  
"Hello, I'm Alice. What's your name?" Alice asked.  
"Amelia," the little girl replied shyly. "Will you be my big sister?"  
Alice smiled, "Of course." She stood and held out her hand to little Amelia. "Come, lets go home."


End file.
